


look behind the facade

by byronicmaiden



Category: Jekyll & Hyde - Wildhorn/Wildhorn & Bricusse & Cuden/Bricusse, Monster High
Genre: Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst, Burlesque, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Vampire Bites, Vampire Turning, everyone is over 18, or it’s just an alternate take on his redemption, pre-valentine redemption, projected onto monster high characters, some fluff at the end? maybe? who knows, there’s no actual smut, this is my fear of intimacy and my imposter syndrome and my trauma, this isn’t a smut fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byronicmaiden/pseuds/byronicmaiden
Summary: “there’s a face that we hide till the nighttime appears, and what's hiding inside behind all of our fears is our true self, locked inside the facade.”jackson still wants to be a vampire, but no one will bite him. valentine wants a new life, but he’s stuck doing what he does best.(basically just the jekyll and lucy storyline from the J&H musical but it’s jackson and valentine)
Relationships: Jackson Jekyll/Kieran Valentine
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. bring on the men

**Author's Note:**

> _”That seemed to make him feel a little better, but I don't think he's giving up on the idea of me biting him.”_  
>  —Draculaura’s Diary

The desire to be bitten, to finally look as strange as he always felt while simultaneously finally belonging somewhere, never really left him. It just faded and simmered with time, like a wound left to fester and grow putrid. Like an itch he refused to let himself scratch until it had eaten away his skin.  Eaten, bite, suck, drink, taste. Just thinking about it made him feel so odd. Senior year, 18 years old, and he still dreamed of some lady-Dracula sweeping him off his feet and whisking him away to a dark castle, bathed in lush red velvet, candelabra twinkling and casting shadows across the halls.

Draculaura had rejected his proposal within seconds, and every other vampire at Monster High seemed to want nothing to do with him. Then again, no one seemed to want much to do with him, save for the few monsters who he figured just felt bad for him.

Being practically invisible (but not literally, he wasn’t that lucky) often allowed him to overhear snippets of whisperings amongst other students. This usually just made him feel guilty and wrong, like he’d violated some unspoken privacy pact. He didn’t think it would ever come in handy.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when he heard Gory Fangtell tell her boyfriend about some vampire-only club they had to check out, Jackson stopped to listen, though he often paid extra attention to any mention of vampires, still holding out hope one might choose him. He only started really listening when Gory made a rather rude comment about Draculaura’s ex-boyfriend working at the aforementioned hangout.

“It’s almost sad, really. I’d feel bad for him, if he wasn’t so pathetic. But I told you like, a millennia ago– it’s basically the only thing he’s good at.” She giggled at her own little joke.

Her blonde boyfriend, Bram, he believed was his name, just smiled with pride. “I guess he should consider himself lucky. At least he’s got something to fall back on.”

“I’m sure he’s thankful for that, considering how much time he spends on his back,” Gory said, earning an incredulous look from Bram, a smile soon replacing it as she laughed again. 

Jackson felt guilty for not stepping in and defending Valentine (even though he had no reason to). He also felt a bit embarrassed that he didn’t entirely understand all of Gory and Bram’s jokes.

“Who could’ve possibly seen this coming? Poor little Kieran Valentine, taking jobs at the  _ Red Bat _ of all places. Guess you can only live in your mommy’s garage for so long, huh?” Gory began picking the polish off one long red nail, seeming barely interested in her own conversation.

_ The Red Bat _ . Jackson yanked out his phone and quickly made a note of that name. 

He hasn’t heard word of Valentine since Draculaura’s birthday, and he didn’t know much about him, aside from the fact his only hobby seemed to be ruining other peoples relationships and fawning over himself.

Jackson often found himself watching others, wondering what they were feeling, wishing he knew if they felt as strange and abnormal as he did. It was odd, feeling like an outsider amongst both monsters and humans. Being rejected by both sides of yourself.

He couldn’t read minds like Scarah, but he had this feeling that there was more to Valentine than he let on. Smiling and flirting and thriving off the attention, the girls swooning and grasping for one brief touch, him savoring every bit of adoration they showered him with. But Jackson suspected that there was something else buried deep down beneath layers of plastic and smiles. He seemed less like a real person and more like a doll built to be loved. Beautiful and expensive, with nothing on the inside. But Jackson knew all too well that no one was truly like that, no one was as empty and perfect as they wanted the world to think. Within all of Valentine’s arrogance there was a hint of desperation; for love, for approval, for just attention, really. A neediness to be liked.

* * *

Jackson looked at himself in the mirror, realizing now how pathetic he looked. Dressed in the most vampire-esque clothes he owned, he looked like a child playing dress up in clothes far too big for him. He looked like a rejected member of My Chemical Romance.

His mom was off at a PTA meeting, and he told her he was going to be studying with Frankie, explaining he might not be home until late and she shouldn’t worry about him.

It took some prying with Draculaura to learn where The Red Bat even was. When he said the name, her expression changed to one of shock and confusion.

“Um...what do you need to know that for?”

“Uh, history project,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at the ground. “I’m writing about important places in vampire history.”

“Oh,” she giggled nervously, before explaining that The Red Bat was located on the farthest edge of the monster side of New Salem, on the end of a small street, near the tree line. 

She also informed him that, while he could research the place all he wanted, he should never, under any circumstances, go there himself.

“Got it. I won’t,” he lied.

The Red Bat was exactly where she said it was, tucked away on the corner of a dark street. A neon red sign of a glowing bat illuminated the wet pavement as Jackson ducked his way down the back alley. Walking down the damp alleyway behind a seedy vampire-only club was probably the most rebellious think he’d ever done, or would ever do. Behavior like this was more Holt’s area of expertise.

The back door was unlocked, luckily. Jackson slipped in as he shoved headphones in his ears. His luck continued, as the only music playing was very low jazz. A small band played next to an empty stage.

The club felt almost claustrophobic, the walls draped in red velvet curtains, dripping candles illuminating with warm light, rotting furniture occupied by intoxicated vampires, many of which were wrapped around each other in obscene embraces. One girl was straddling an almost unconscious boy, her jaw clamped tightly on his throat, dark red spilling down his front as she made breathy sounds of pleasure.Jackson looked away.

The deeper he got into the club, the stronger the metallic smell of blood hit him. Blood and bodies and lust. It was barely hidden beneath the scent of melting wax.

He took a deep breath, tried to gather his courage as he slipped the headphones out.

A woman with a brunette bouffant stood behind the bar, scrubbing an empty cocktail shaker with a red-stained rag.

“Hi,” he said, realizing he sounded far too nervous when the woman raised an eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat, pressed his lips together.

“Uh, I’m looking for this guy, I heard he works here. Is Kieran Valentine here?”

The woman gave a slight smile and a breathy laugh. “Yeah, he should be out in a few minutes. Why?” She stopped washing the shaker and leaned forward. “You a fan? I haven’t seen you here before. You’re not a regular, huh?”

“No, I guess not, I mean, yeah, I’m a fan...I guess. He used to go to Monster High with me.”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “I heard he dropped out.”

_ More like got kicked out _ , thought Jackson.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m, uh, looking to get something from him.”

The woman laughed. “Funny way to say it. Whatever. You should go find a seat at the front if you want him to notice you.”

Jackson nodded, still a bit confused as the woman turned from him to start working on a new drink.

He made his way to the seats surrounding the stage, sitting uncomfortably in a black velvet chair. The backstage was concealed by red curtains billowing slightly. Jackson focused on the opening of the curtains, waiting for something to happen. The draped red velvet over every wall made Jackson think of the Black Lodge from _Twin Peaks_ ; the comparison didn’t help settle his nerves.

He was beginning to feel pathetic. He could feel everyone staring at him, knowing he didn’t belong, knowing he was different and wrong and they needed to do something about him. His hands balled into fists, nails digging into the velvet cushion beneath him. He took a deep breath and forced himself to remain, reminding himself that if he could just get Valentine to bite him, he wouldn’t have to feel like this any longer. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, feeling a cold sweat form on his skin. Heat rose in his chest, the same way he felt before he vanished and Holt took his place. He tried to think of the future, of what was to come. No more hatred and anger and confusion. No more sticking out, no more being treated like something that needs fixing. He replayed the images of his soon-to-be new life over and over until his breathing steadied.

He opened his eyes when the music swelled, though thankfully not loud enough to trigger another episode. The lights aiming at the stage were a soft pink, giving everything a soft, hazy glow, like a film from the 80s.

Attention turned to the stage as the curtains ruffled open. Jackson immediately recognized Draculaura’s ex-boyfriend, even though he was dressed a bit different. A jacket similar to the one he previously wore adorned his shoulders, though this one was dark red and fell down his back in a long train. It swished against his long legs, which were covered by fishnet stockings. He wore the same knee-high boots Jackson had previously took note of (how he didn’t fall and twist his ankle after every step still remained a mystery). Everything he wore seemed adorned with hundreds of glass rhinestones, shining slightly beneath the spotlights.

Jackson felt his palms grow sweaty as he squeezed the armrests of his seat. He blinked at Valentine, who seemed completely unaffected by both Jackson’s presence and his own lack of proper clothing. A man in the front row, a few seats down from Jackson, who held a bloody blonde girl in his lap, gave an enthusiastic  _ woo _ !

Valentine turned and winked at him, touching two fingers to his own red lips and blowing a kiss in the mans direction.

Jackson didn’t recognize the song the band was currently playing, though it sounded vaguely like something from an old musical. He wasn’t exactly a music expert, as he could barely listen to it without blacking out, but he liked the slow jazz (he appreciated any music that didn’t turn him into a hysterical lunatic). His eyes focused on Valentines red lips, his mouth that was dark and wet and beautifully shaped, as he added his voice to the bands music. Like a sailor blocking out a sirens call, Jackson scrambled for his headphones, just in case.

His mouth went dry as Valentine drifted across the stage, the beaded embroidery on his jacket glittering with every move, his eyes dark and beckoning and utterly hollow, his voice echoing and growing stronger.

_ A girl alone, all on her own, must try to have a heart of stone– _

Jackson watched as another female vampire reached out and stroked Valentines arm like she was petting an animal. He gave her a smile and she let her hand trail down, running up his leg and sliding her fingers through the holes in his stockings.

Jackson swore he saw sadness behind his glittering pink eyes, beneath his black eyeliner and long eyelashes and all the music that drowned out any discomfort, the bright lights that hid anything real.

The male guests didn’t seem any gentler, as one attempted to wrap an arm around Valentines waist and pull him onto his lap. Valentine promptly smacked his hand away, bearing his fangs and hissing at him. The man quickly backed off, letting his arms fall limply around him.

Jackson stiffened when Valentine began walking his way. Would be recognize him? Did he remember him? Did he ever even notice him during his brief stay at Monster High?

He flinched as he felt a hand lay gently on his shoulder, fingers tapping as if beckoning Jackson to turn around.

Jackson remained still, which did nothing to dissuade Valentine, who made his way to stand in front of Jackson’s seat. He ran a hand down his cheek, taking his chin in his fingers and turning his face upwards, meeting his gaze. Jackson swallowed hard, though he noticed at no point did Valentine attempt to hypnotize him, instead simply continued his song.

_ I’ve always known, I’ve always said, that silk and lace in black and red– _

Valentine kicked his leg and let his foot come down on the arm of Jackson’s chair, pinning him in place, making him jump. Every face in the club was turned to them, watching expectantly with jealously.

Nervously, Jackson reached a hand out and wrapped it around Valentines ankle. It seemed like the least degrading place he could touch.

_ Will drive a man right off his head, it’s easy _

Valentine smiled at him and, in one swift movement, straddled Jackson’s lap. Jackson couldn’t force himself to move, or speak, or even react, aside from an awkward smile. Despite their closeness, Valentine felt cold against him. Jackson tried to focus on something, anything besides the sickly pink eyes daring him to do something. He focused on the clothes Valentine wore, noticing that beneath the red jacket was some sort of boned bodysuit. Jackson had seen one similar to it when he had stumbled upon a  Playboy magazine Holt had stolen and hidden beneath their bed.

He almost jumped when Valentine ran a sharp red nail down his cheek, tapping under his chin and forcing their eyes to meet. Valentine tossed his head back and pressed himself closer to Jackson for the entertainment of the onlooking crowd. As he met his eyes again, he reached forward and plucked Jackson’s glasses from his face, sliding them up the bridge of his own nose instead, letting them rest just below his eyes, peering at Jackson over the foggy glass.

_ They make me laugh, they make me cry, they make me sick– _

Jackson blinked at the blurry face in front of him. Valentine smiled, his sharp white teeth sliding out. He leaned forward, brushing his lips across Jackson’s pale throat, biting just slightly, enough for Jackson to gasp, but not enough to do any real damage.

“Aw, are you shy, sugar?” he giggled, lips still inches from his neck. Jackson said nothing, his mouth too dry to form words.

“I can help you out with that.”

As soon as he spoke, before Jackson could even think to respond, Valentine pulled away, climbing off his lap and resuming his song, tossing Jacksons glasses back to him. Jackson scrambled to catch them before they could clatter to the ground and break.

_ So God knows why we say bring on the men and let the fun begin– _

Jackson’s eyes followed Valentine move across the room, visiting other guests, following the same routine: stroking a hand across their face, smiling and blowing kisses, sending glittering hearts in their direction and finally allowing them the honor of touching him. Standing under the spotlight and adoring the attention, running his hands over his body. He smiled, gasping out the lyrics to his song with glee, but Jackson just thought he looked sad. Sad and completely alone. Not that he was judging him, he certainly was in no position to do so– he just felt sympathy for the vampire, who seemed drunk on lust but starving for actual love. Who seemed to think the two were the same thing.

_ A little touch of sin, why wait another minute? _

Valentine stood in the center of the audience, offering every guest a chance to touch him. Several obliged, wrapping a hand around his wrist, stroking his back, grabbing his thigh– one even reached down to take hold of his ankle, another running a hand through his hair and pulling it slightly.

Something about the sight of him allowing them all to run their hands across his body, grab fistfuls of his hair and stare at him like one might study a painting, a doll, anything built to be pretty and nothing more– it made Jackson’s heart hurt, made him feel such a deep sympathy for someone who seemed to have everything he could ever want. Someone who had never been anything but cruel and nasty to the people Jackson cared about.

_ Step this way, it’s time for us to play– _

It seemed that all the diamonds and velvet and broken bloody hearts in the world couldn’t fill that strange, sad, empty hole inside him.

_ They say we may not pass this way again, so let’s waste no more time– _

Jackson had so little to be happy about, and he always regarded himself as the opposite of a winner. But as he watched another vampire throw a wadded dollar bill in Valentines direction, not even bothering to actually hand it to him, he realized he should really learn to count his blessings more often.


	2. here’s to the night, here’s to romance

After triumphantly shouting his final note, Valentine vanished back behind the curtains with a flourish of pink glitter and hearts. Jackson found himself applauding alongside the rest of the audience, though his limbs still felt heavy and numb, like he was under frigid water.

He stumbled his way back over to the bar, grabbing the attention of the same bartender.

He cleared his throat, trying to remember how exactly to form words.

“Do you know where I can find Valentine? I need to ask him something, it’s really important.”

The bartender smiled and nodded as if she understood. “He’s in the back. You can’t miss it. He insisted we put his name on his ‘dressing room door’,” she rolled her eyes. “He thinks way too highly of himself for a guy who’ll trade a blowjob for a pint of o-positive blood.”

Jackson just blinked at her and turned away, stuffing his sweaty hands in his pockets as he slipped through the crowd of vampires. His legs were weak beneath him, though he continued walking to the back of the club, as if on autopilot.

He pushed the velvet curtains aside, stepping into the dark hallway that hid behind the beauty of the Red Bat. It seemed terribly sad to Jackson; something so dark and ugly, just barely hidden behind a mask of prettiness.

He stopped once he reached the door adorned with Valentines name. He took a deep breath, tried to focus on anything to ground him. The red paint on the door. The gold of his nameplate. The soft pink light pouring out from the cracks in the doorway.

He knocked gently on the door and heard faint movement from inside.

“Hold on a minute, hon, I’m not quite dressed yet,” his voice floated out, still laced with the accent Jackson now knew was as fake as everything else about him.

He heard soft footsteps reach the door then stop.

“If that’s you, Miss Bathory, I already said I’m sorry about being late,” he said, his voice quickly changing to that high-pitched whine, though his words were tinged with a hint of fright. “It won’t happen again, alright?”

“Uh, no, it’s not– my name’s Jackson Jekyll. I went to Monster High with you? For like, three days?”

A moment of silence, then the lock clicked and the door swung open. Jackson averted his eyes once he realized he was staring directly at Valentines bare chest.

“Hi there, handsome,” he smiled, flashing his fangs. “You feeling lonely tonight?”

Jackson looked up to meet Valentines rosy eyes. “Who’s Miss Bathory?” he stuttered out.

Valentines eyes seemed to darken slightly as a flirty smile replaced his worried expression. “You jealous, darlin’? Don’t worry, I promise I’ll make tonight all about you...”

He spun on his heel and walked back into the dressing room, beckoning Jackson to follow.

Jackson felt his skin crawl at Valentines over-acting, his false accent that kept slipping into a moan, the exaggerated sashay when he walked, the way he turned everything into flirting.

His dressing room was lit with the same dripping candles as the rest of the club, which seemed like quite the fire hazard when paired with the long, flowing sleeves of Valentines dressing gown, sweeping across the room and drifting over the flames. Jackson figured that once you’re undead, you’re not all that concerned with dying.

“Why dontcha tell me what a nice fellow like you is doing in place like this?” Valentine asked, shutting the door with a flourish, then sitting on the furry stool by his vanity. Jackson’s eyes kept darting to his lack of a reflection.

“After that, we can go upstairs, if you wanna. Or we can do it down here, if ya don’t want too much.”

Jackson still felt incapable of meeting his gaze, instead focusing on objects in the room. Valentines discarded jacket on the ground. About half a dozen glass bottles of ancient perfume. A sad pile of money on the vanity surface.

“What? No! Uh, no, that’s not– I don’t wanna do that. I wouldn’t– I’m not– I just needed to talk to you.” He nervously began rubbing the back of his neck, trying to soothe an ache that wasn’t there. “My name is Jackson. Wait, I already said that. And I already told you I went to Monster High, right?”

Valentine had began rubbing at his mouth with a stained white cloth, removing what Jackson now realized was lipstick. “You sure did.”

“Great, okay. I saw you at Draculaura’s party, sorta. I saw you fall in that...stuff. That was really gross. But, uh, you look better now! You smell better too. So...how is all that going?”

Valentine looked at him with narrowed eyes, the sultry attitude fading, replaced with annoyance and a touch of embarrassment. “It’s all going swell. Don’t know why you felt the need to remind me of that, though...” For a brief moment, he looked almost sad. It was one of the first real emotions Jackson had seen him express all night.

“Sorry. This isn’t something I’ve done before. Like, ever. But I heard someone say you worked here, and I have...a question for you. Well, I guess it’s more of a request–“

“Who?” Valentine interrupted.

“Huh?”

“Who did you hear say I worked here?”

Jackson blinked at him. “Some other vampires at school. Gory and Bram. You know them?”

Valentine grit his teeth, his face scrunched in offense. “A little bit. What did Miss Gory say about me? Whatever she says I did, just know she’s lying.”

Jackson thought back to Gory’s less-than-high opinion of Valentine.

“Just that you were taking jobs at the Red Bat.”

Valentine rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds like her.” He cleared his throat, and Jackson noticed his voice slipping.

“But why would you wanna talk about that little liar, huh? Wouldn’t you much rather discuss all the fun we could have together?” The accent had returned completely, as had the over-acting, the bedroom eyes, the way he kept drawing attention to his mouth– licking his lips, fixing his lipstick, sucking slightly on the tip of his pointer finger.

“Yeah...about that. So, I really didn’t know this was...that you were...doing...stuff. For money.”

“Well, I’m not gonna do it for free. Even if you are handsome. Plane tickets from New Salem to Transylvania aren’t cheap, ya know?”

“Why do you wanna go back to Transylvania?” Jackson chirped, intrigued that he might see a glimpse of the monster behind the mask.

“You go to Monster High. You saw what went down at Draculaura’s party.” He turned back to the mirror and began fixing his eyeliner. “I’m humble enough to admit that I embarrassed myself over something stupid back then.”

“Right. That stuff you fell in. You looked like Carrie,” Jackson half-laughed.

“I don’t know who that is,” Valentine said flatly.

“Like, the movie? Stephen King? Do monsters not have Stephen King? I guess maybe some of his stuff would be like, offensive to you...us...” He tried to laugh again, only for Valentine to narrow his eyes at him, thinking.

“You slipped up there,” his wrist flicked as he replaced the smudged wing of his eyeliner. “You’re not a monster, are ya, sweetheart?”

Jackson laughed again, this time far more nervously. “What? Of course I am. Sometimes. Half the time. Okay, I’m half-monster. This is my human half.” He gestured meekly to himself.

“I see that,” Valentine responded. “You’re lucky I’m so accepting of folks like you. Some of the monsters around here would’ve run you outta this place the minute they realized you’re not one of us. There’s actually quite a few normies like yourself who are into monsters like us. I’ve only had the pleasure of helping out a handful.”

Jackson couldn’t tell if the double entendre was intentional or not.

“But somethin’ tells me you’re not here for that, huh?” He spun around to face Jackson, leaning closer to him. Jackson kept looking at his shining fangs. “So, tell me what you want, Mr. Jekyll. I’ll do my best to help. As long as you say ‘please’.”

Jackson pressed his lips together and tried to figure out how to word his request. Should he be subtle and hope Valentine caught on? Should he match Valentine’s flirtatious comments? Was there some protocol to this he didn’t know about?

“You’re a vampire,” he blurted out.

Valentine looked at him with unimpressed disinterested mixed with mild confusion, the same as he had every other time Jackson opened his mouth.

“Aren’t you perceptive,” he said.

“Sorry. That’s obvious. Listen, there’s no way to ease into this, and I already tried with Draculaura, and no one else will even talk to me, but you always seemed so...willing to do whatever–“

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” Valentine said.

Jackson thought on his choice of words for a moment. “No! No, I didn’t mean anything like that. Just that, you know, you were very...popular...with all the girls. You never seemed to say no to anything–“

“Will you just get to your point before I end up smacking you?” Valentine interrupted.

Jackson took a deep breath. “I want you to bite me and turn me into a vampire,” he blurted out, barely pausing between words.

Valentine raised an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?” he asked.

Jackson blinked. “Th- that’s it? You’re not gonna ask why?”

“I never ask why someone wants something’,” he responded. “I just give ‘em what they want. As long as I get something in return.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, kicking his foot dangerously close to Jackson’s head.

“So, Mr. Jekyll, what’ve you got to give me?”

“Well, don’t you want my blood? Or my...energy, or whatever you feed off of? Isn’t that why you dated Draculaura?” Valentine narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion. “She said that’s where you got your powers. From making people love you.”

“Jackson,” Valentine started. “I get you’re young, and you seem pretty naive, but you do understand what business I’m in, right? I’ve got dozens of monsters in love with me- most of ‘em visit me at least once a week. I have plenty of love to feed off of. Why would I need yours?”

Jackson couldn’t help but feel sorry for Valentine. He couldn’t imagine this job involved any actual love– just lust, anger, and maybe the occasional unhealthy obsession. His mind suddenly went to that episode of _Buzzfeed Unsolved_ about Jack the Ripper. Images of foggy London streets and bloody throats, Victorian detectives pouring over anonymous letters.

Jackson made a mental note to ask Valentine if he was alive when Jack the Ripper enacted his murderous rampage.

“But none of that is real. Like...you’re just being paid to lie to them. And none of them know anything about you.”

“And you do?” Valentine asked. He had a point.

Again Jackson rubbed the back of his neck, then looked at the floor. “No...but I know if you helped me out with this, I’d be really thankful, and I’d actually like you for you. Not just cause you...whatever. You know.”

Valentine crossed his arms and seemed to consider Jacksons statement. Watching him with rosy eyes and grit teeth.

“If I do it, will you get lost and stop bothering me?” Valentine asked.

“Yes! I swear, I’ll never bug you again.”

Valentine looked him over, studying him. Jackson could see the gears turn behind his eyes.

“Alright, fine. If it’ll get you out of my hair.”

Jackson couldn’t hide his sudden excitement as Valentines answer set in. “Really? You’ll really do it?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” He shrugged. “I don’t really have much better to do.”

“I dunno what to say...just, thanks. Valentine. Kieran. Um...what should I call you?” Jackson began to nervously pick at his nails.

“You won’t have to worry about that much longer, since I don’t plan to ever interact with you after this bit of business is complete. But just Valentine is fine for now.”

Jackson nodded. “Got it. So, uh, what should I do? Like, what do you need me to do before you can...you know.”

Valentine waved his hand and a black champagne glass appeared in his grasp. “Drink this.”

Jackson stared at it. “...why?”

“Have you ever bought a piece of fruit, Jackson?”

Jackson nodded in confusion.

“And you probably wash that fruit before you eat it, so you can be sure it’s clean. So you understand why I’d prefer to know you’re clean before I go putting your blood in my mouth.”

“Oh,” Jackson nodded again, understanding a little better. Vampires were strange. He supposed he’d have to learn all about their strange customs pretty soon. “This won’t, like...make me sick or anything, right?”

“Course not,” Valentine said. “It’s just a little something I learned to make from my mom. It’ll make you taste better, too.”

Jackson stared at the fizzy pink liquid. “Your mom knows you do stuff like this?”

“Of course she does. I learned from her.”

Jackson’s face scrunched in confusion. “Your mom taught you to...that’s a little weird, don’t you think?”

Valentine shrugged. “Of course not. That’s how it works, you silly thing. I’ve had plenty of teachers in the art of love. Take my first, Lord Stoker, the one who did what I’m about to do to you– bit me and made me young and beautiful forever.” 

“Huh? Elissabat’s uncle?”

Valentine eyed Jackson. “You know her?”

“Yeah, sorta.”

“Huh. Well, anyways, yeah, Elissabat’s uncle. He was the one who was kind enough to bite me in the first place, a few hundred years back. I would spend hours listening to him teach me all about romance.” Valentine looked down slightly. “After awhile, he sent me off to live with a friend of his...and she was generous enough to welcome me into her family. She and him taught me everything I needed to know about how love works.” He turned to Jackson, then crossed and uncrossed his legs. “How to get it. How to use it. That’s what we do.”

Jackson looked down, ignoring Valentines flirting. He wasn’t sure why, but the way he spoke about his “family” made Jackson’s skin crawl. It just sounded far too twisted to possibly be standard procedure, even for vampires.

“Right...so, does your mom know you’re here?”

Valentine’s expression changed slightly, a hint of something flashing across his face. Regret, maybe, or just plain sadness.

“Sort of...it’s a long story. My boss is a friend of hers, so I’m sure she knows, if Stoker hasn’t told her already.”

“Why would Stoker know?”

“He knows everything,” Valentine said. “He owns this place.”

Jackson didn’t know how to respond.

“Do you really never wanna see me again after this?”

Valentine looked at him. “Why would I need to see you again?”

Jackson shrugged. “I don’t know. Just in case you ever needed a friend or something. This job’s probably tough sometimes, right?”

Valentine didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Let’s not think about all that, sweetheart,” he said suddenly. “Let’s focus on you and me tonight, huh?” Valentine leaned towards Jackson, running a finger over the rim of his glass. “Are you almost done with your drink?”

“Yeah...so, what should I do now?”

Valentine smiled at him, his confidence quickly reappearing. “Just lay back and relax, honey. I’ll do all the work. You’ve just gotta enjoy it.

Jackson could only laugh nervously as Valentine leaned forward, so far until he was almost draped over Jackson, his arms resting on Jackson’s shoulders.

He ran two fingers down Jackson’s arm, stopping when he reached the empty glass in his hand. He began intertwining his fingers with Jackson’s until the glass slipped from his hand, landing with a dull thud on the thick red carpet.

Jackson swallowed hard as Valentine leaned closer, barely inches away, pressing himself up against Jackson, who shivered when he felt Valentine’s cold body against his own.

It must be sad, he thought, to be that cold all the time.

Warmth quickly flared in Jackson’s abdomen, that feeling like when you slip and start to fall, but you haven’t fallen quite yet. That breathless, shocked feeling of the ground giving away beneath you.

Valentine ran his mouth up Jackson’s neck, across his throat, kissing at the pale skin as his hands pressed against Jackson’s chest, over his heart, undoubtedly feeling it beat rapidly.

Valentine pressed his lips to Jackson’s throat and opened his mouth, his teeth scraping over the flesh and making Jackson flinch.

Jackson took a deep breath, prepared himself for the sharp, bitter pain he knew was about to come. The breaking of flesh, those fangs like hot needles in his neck. Blood being sucked from his veins as something else is pumped in.

The bite never came. Both of them were shaken out of their position when the door slammed opened. Valentine hastily scrambled off Jackson as he pulled his robe tightly around himself.

The woman standing in the doorway had dark red hair piled high on top of her head, dressed in a black velvet dress, a fur-lined coat draped over her arms.

“Miss Bathory,” Valentine said, his accent fully gone, sounding almost frightened. “Is everything okay?”

The woman- Miss Bathory- narrowed her eyes and stepped into the room. “I don’t know, Kieran, is it? Because you were almost half an hour late tonight.”

She walked over to Valentine, ignoring Jackson completely. As she passed him, he was hit with a wave of heavy, dark perfume, making his nostrils itch.

“You do care about your job, don’t you, Kieran? Because if you don’t, I can always find someone else willing to take your place. It’s not like it’s that hard to find another pretty-enough vampire ready to spread his legs for money.”

Valentine looked down, pressing his lips together and staying silent. Miss Bathory leaned down and took his jaw in her hand, squeezing his face and forcing him to look up.

“Or I could always call Stoker and let him know how naughty you’re being. Do you want that, Kieran?”

“No!” he said, his eyes gone wide. “No, I don’t want that. Don’t call him. I won’t be late again, okay? I’m sorry.”

Bathory considered him for a moment, digging her long red nails into his cheek, then quickly dropped his jaw and walked back to the doorway.

“You’re working four extra hours tomorrow. Keep this up and you can do us all a favor and run home to your mommy.”

“Okay, I got it, jeez,” Valentine mumbled. Almost immediately, Bathory was across the room again so she could hit him on the back of his head, making him jump,

Turning on her heel, she blew him a glittery kiss and walked to the door, still completely ignoring Jackson, who was sitting in awkward silence as Valentine continued staring at the floor.

Jackson sat in the quiet. The whole room was thick with tension, like smoke or an awful smell. He heard Valentine inhale shakily. He didn’t look at him, wanting to give him a little bit of dignity.

“Sorry about all that, darlin’,” Valentine said, suddenly switching back to that carefree persona of flirtatiousness. “Now,” he stood up and climbed back onto Jackson’s lap. “Where were we, hm?”

Jackson could do nothing but look into his pink eyes and notice how wet they were, like he was doing everything he could to stop himself from crying. Even with the smile on his face, he looked so sad and so completely, utterly alone.

Jackson couldn’t form words; all he could do was gently push Valentine away, sliding out from under him and stumbling to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he said, then tried to say more.  _ I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m sorry I asked you. I’m sorry this is happening to you. I wish I could help. _

He rushed to the door, fumbling with the doorknob and refusing to look back at Valentine.

He finally pried the door open, then turned around to face the vampire who almost bit him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, turning and rushing out the door.

Even as he ran from the dressing room, he continued whisper-shouting, “I’m sorry, I’m just so sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> the val stan group chat wanted it


End file.
